Chosen
by prettykitty473
Summary: The Reaping Day scene from Peeta's POV.


**This was my finals for English. Write a scene from The Hunger Games in Peeta's POV. Well, that or an essay. So I couldn't resist doing this!**

**I don't own the book, movie, or anything else associated with The Hunger Games.**

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For the first time since I can remember, I wake up to the sun.

It's light shines through my bedroom window, getting a direct hit on my eyes. I try to blink it away, but have to turn my head. I look out the bedroom door and into the silent hallway. Of course it's silent; my mother and father would be in the bakery already. And I should be, would be, too, on any other day.

But not today.

I sigh softly as I stretch, silently thanking my mother for not waking me up. She doesn't usually show such mercy. A part of me thinks she's afraid, but the other part thinks she's incapable of feeling fear. But I'm not. And I'm afraid.

It's the same thing every year, this day is. I get up, usually along with my parents, and bake all morning, internally panicking, before getting into my best clothes and standing in the square along with every other kid who's name was put into the pool. It's a silent event, with nobody looking at another, nobody wanting to have seen the face of the two who's chosen.

And every year, I hope it isn't me.

The Hunger Games is a cruel thing, and I hate that I'm forced to watch. Contender after contender gets slaughtered, and the screams of the dying…

I know I could never win.

Dreading the day before me, I reluctantly get ready. Bathe, get on good clothes, hide the panic in my eyes. All routine. All fake.

Walking to the square feels like walking straight into Death's arms. I don't know if anyone else feels it, but I do. The vulnerability, the helplessness. Standing and waiting, however is the worst, and despite the norm, I look around. I avoid the stage, with its officials and Effie with her bright pink hair (which is ridiculous looking, but all Capital people look ridiculous) and instead look at all the other victims-to-be. My eyes search for one in particular and… there she is. Katniss Everdeen.

I smile softly, a gesture so out of place in the square, but it's there nonetheless. Even here, she stands out to me. Her signature braid hangs down, and her arms are tense by her side. She doesn't advertise it or anything, but I think she takes tesserae. I know her family is poor, and even though she hunts, I think she still does it. It scares me a bit, thinking that her name could be in there so many times. It also makes me feel ashamed. I've never had to sign up for tesserae. I get fed every day, even if it's the stale bread nobody else wants. I feel bad, knowing that I will always make it out alright, and that the other's of District 12 are less fortunate.

I voiced that to mother once, when I was real little. _You don't have time to feel pity, boy. Life isn't fair. People starve, people die. All you can do is make sure you aren't one of them._

Her words make sense, but to just shrug the injustices aside… it felt wrong. So I never did. And I never brought the topic up again.

"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen." The mayor steps up to the podium to begin his yearly speech. "Welcome to this year's Reaping…" I drown him out. I've heard this so many times, I could go up there and recite it myself. My eyes continue to linger on Katniss, involuntarily unable to look away.

Whatever I feel for her, it goes well beyond her beauty. Sure, she has an amazing build due to her hunting, but I think it's the fire within her that attracts me the most. I remember seeing her as a kid, my favorite memory being the first time I saw her sing. Her voice was angelic, taking my breath away. I think the birds even stopped to listen, because as soon as her voice rang out, I could only hear her.

"Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be _ever_ in your favor!" Hearing Effie speak gets my attention, and not just due to her accent. If she's talking, that means they're about to pick their victims for the year. All at once, it seems, we hold our breath, and I know I'm not the only one praying to the powers-that-be that it isn't me who's chosen.

It's ladies first, giving us guys a bit more time to bite back the nerves. We listen quietly, waiting to hear who's going to die this year. Effie steps back up to the podium to read the name… _Primrose Everdeen._

All at once there's a commotion from where Katniss is at. "Prim!" Her voice rings out, panicked, and I feel both pity and fear seep into me. Prim isn't Katniss, but she's her sister. And I don't know of a person who _didn't_ like the little twelve-year-old. My blood runs cold a second later, however, as I hear what Katniss says next. "I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!" _No._

I let out a gasp, but nobody's paying attention to me at this time, all eyes are on the two girls, shaking their heads slowly at the scene. "She's insane," I hear one guy say. "But for her sister…" another states softly. They all just think it's a bad deal, but they don't really care. None of them. I can see relief behind the other girl's pity, and in that second, I hate them all. More so, I hate the Games, and what they do to people. I hate this world. And I hate me. Hate that I can't protect her now.

She's up on stage, and Effie's asking for applause. Thankfully, nobody gives it.

I don't know who first held their fingers up, but the rest of us follow suit. I raise my three fingers as high as I can, as if I could raise her up and out of this situation.

Haymitch is up on the stage, the only winner of the Games we have, and he's drunk. Falls off, even. I only watch that out of the corner of my peripheral vision; my eyes remain locked on the rigid form on stage. She's taken up her hardened form, the one that she adopted after the mine explosion. After I gave her the bread.

I still remember that day, because it's one of the few times I've ever interacted with her. It was raining, and she looked so helpless. She was just sitting there, unmoving. It didn't take much thought; I dropped the bread in the fire. Got a whipping, sure, but it didn't matter. I gave it to her when my mother wasn't looking. I remember wanting to stay and say something, anything, to make her feel better. But I had to get back, couldn't let mother know.

"And now for our next tribute." Effie's back and ready to get on with the show. The guys stiffen, and I'm no exception. "Our male tribute will be… Peeta Mallark!" I freeze. _Me?_

All eyes are on me now, so I try to clear my face. Tributes aren't supposed to look weak. That gets them killed faster. I'm stiff as I'm walking, but somehow make it onto the stage. Effie asks if anyone would like to volunteer to go in my place, but I know it won't happen. Nobody wants to be in my position right now. Especially not me.

But wait. I'm a tribute. And Katniss is a tribute. That means… I sneak a peek at her, all tense and staring straight ahead. This is my chance. I won't make it through the games, that's for certain. But who's to say she won't? She has skill with the bow, so I hear from everyone from the market who gets her kills. I don't think there's a person who comes into the bakery who _hasn't _spoken of her amazing marksmanship. She knows how to kill, that I know. And she's smart. She has an intelligent look about her, and you just know she's got it all figured out within seconds. "You should try to be more like her," my father said once, when mother wasn't around. "Always so alert, so calculating. She's a survivor, that one is." He has a soft spot for her, I think. Especially since she takes care of Prim, who always gets us goat cheese.

Yes, Katniss _is_ a survivor. She has the potential to win the Games. In fact, she will win the Games. I will do anything and everything in my power to make sure she does. I'm a hopeless cause. What I feel for her… hopeless in its entirety. But let those feelings give me strength, because I'm about to do what no other tribute has ever done.

_Don't worry, Katniss. I'm going to keep you safe._


End file.
